


peace in your violence

by luciferinasundaysuit



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Temporary Character Death, semi-consensual cycle of murder and resurrection, you can take the boy out of the priesthood but you can’t take the catholic guilt out of the boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinasundaysuit/pseuds/luciferinasundaysuit
Summary: He could not make Yusuf stay dead. Yusuf could not make him stay dead.It took them twenty years to stop trying.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 120





	peace in your violence

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Lyssie for beta duties!
> 
> Title from Silence by Marshmello ft. Khalid

The first time Yusuf rose back up on the battlefield, Nicolò thought he was a ghost, returned back to life to exact his revenge. 

The second time, he thought _he_ was a ghost, for he had surely died as well. Yusuf’s blow to his neck and a slow death spilling his life into the sand proved that he was not. 

The third time, he thought they were both demons, covered in blood and cloaked in death. He ran Yusuf through with his sword. Yusuf stabbed him in the heart. Again, it did not take.

The fourth time, and the next dozen times after that, all he thought was _stay dead. Stay fucking dead_.

Yusuf did not, and neither did Nicolò. They tried again and again and again. Blades and strangulation and plain old beatings. Drowning and poison and, on one memorable occasion, fire. That one, Nicolò did not care to repeat. He had no stomach for watching Yusuf burn from afar.

He could not make Yusuf stay dead. Yusuf could not make him stay dead. 

It took them twenty years to stop trying.

Yusuf would disappear into the desert. Nicolò would find him. Nicolò would take off across the nearest sea. Yusuf would find him. 

They would hide from each other, determined not to accept the fact that they were eternally bound together. They always found each other. Even when they did not try to. Even when they tried not to.

There were years and miles and blood between them when Nicolò collapsed next to Yusuf on the side of a lonely, dusty road, broken arm knitting itself back together, and said, “I am tired.”

“As am I,” Yusuf said, but he did not remove his hand from his weapon.

“How many times must we kill each other?” Nicolò asks.

Yusuf smiles grimly. “At least once more, Nicolò. At least once more.”

Then he attacks.

As it turns out, it took many more times. 

Yusuf would cut Nicolò’s throat and stay with him as he bled out in his arms. Nicolò would choke the life from Yusuf and watch the light leave his eyes. Over and over, they repeated these acts like a daily office.

With Yusuf, he experienced death. With Yusuf, he experienced resurrection. Was this to atone for the harm he had done? A thousand deaths at his former enemy’s hand? Nicolò could have believed that, but it did not explain the comfort he had started to feel when Yusuf stirred awake beside him.

“Yes,” Yusuf says one day, washing blood off of his face in a river. “I suppose that is enough.”

“You are right to hate me,” Nicolò says, almost a whisper.

It has taken every minute of the years they’ve spent dying by each other’s hands for him to come to that realization. His old guilt and shame were nothing compared to what he carried with him now. Not that he expected Yusuf to care about that. His guilt would not bring Yusuf’s people back.

Yusuf looks him in the eye. Nicolò cannot describe what he sees there.

“I know,” Yusuf replies. “But like you said. I am tired.”

Nicolò steps out of the river and dries his face, his wounds now long-healed. He holds the cloth out to Yusuf. “We could travel together,” he says, voice hesitant.

Yusuf takes the cloth from his hand. 

“So you can kill me more often?” he asks, tone not quite matching his words. He dries his face, getting the slightest tinge of blood on Nicolò’s cloth. “Perhaps each night as I sleep? Or are you too tired even for that?”

“Even for that,” Nicolò says. “I mean you no further harm.

He means it. It has been years since he has truly had ill will toward Yusuf. This has been a role he has had to play. A necessity, both for himself and for Yusuf. There has been so much anger, so much confusion, so much loneliness. There was nowhere else for it to go.

Yusuf sighs. “I should not believe you, Nicolò di Genova, but I do.”

He stands up and bends down to dig through his bag. “And if I am wrong, I will kill you again, in very unpleasant ways.”

Nicolò smiles. “I would expect nothing less, Yusuf al-Kaysani.”

Yusuf hands Nicolò’s cloth back to him along with a chunk of bread. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”

Staring at the bread in his hands, a kindness he has not earned and does not deserve, Nicolò says, “I think you are my destiny.”

He does not look at Yusuf as he sits down on the ground. He eats his bread in silence. He hears nothing for several moments, no words and no movement. 

He expects to hear that this is wrong, that he is a punishment and nothing more, the way Nicolò thought for so many years. More than likely, Yusuf does not have the thoughts and inclinations that drove Nicolò to the priesthood.

Suddenly, Yusuf sits down beside Nicolò. He begins to eat his own bread. “I wish I did not believe you. I do not know what sins I have committed for Allah to send you to me.”

Nicolò’s mouth turns up at the corners. “I have wondered why God has given you to me. Are you a trial? A temptation? A reward?” The last he whispers. “I do not know. Perhaps we can find out together.”

Yusuf’s eyes soften ever so slightly. He eats his bread slowly, takes his time to speak. “I do not yet trust you. However, I also do not wish to be rid of you. We will travel together. As for the rest, we shall see.”

Nicolò feels more at peace than he has in at least three decades. “I will prove to you that I can be trusted.”

He will be good to Yusuf. He will prove himself worthy. He can. He knows he can. This is God’s will.

Yusuf gives him the barest hint of a smile. “Perhaps you shall, Nicolò. Perhaps you shall.”


End file.
